


of stars and pebbles

by Irrwisch



Series: Always You. [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel (Supernatural) is Not Okay, Castiel is feeling lost, Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), F/M, Friendship, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Second Person, Prostitution, Unrequited Love, Worried Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrwisch/pseuds/Irrwisch
Summary: You can hear him whispering in the other room.You know it’s him worrying.You know it’s him talking to Sam; or Charlie; or Benny.You lean against the closed door, posed to listen. You should stop, but you can’t.His worry eats away at your heart.It’s been four months, and he never said a word.Frankly, he never needed to. You’ve always know, and yet, you chose to ignore it, to keep pretending it was fine.It had happened, now.The one thing you never wanted to be; you turned out to be.You’re a burden.





	of stars and pebbles

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is sort of a part two to "best friends". It is, however, not necessary for you to read that beforehand! It might give you some background context, but I don't think it to be too difficult to understand without. Hope you have fun!

You can hear him whispering in the other room.

You know it’s him worrying.

You know it’s him talking to Sam; or Charlie; or Benny.

You lean against the closed door, posed to listen. You should stop, but you can’t.

His worry eats away at your heart.

It’s been four months, and he never said a word.

Frankly, he never needed to. You’ve always know, and yet, you chose to ignore it, to keep pretending it was fine.

It had happened, now.

The one thing you never wanted to be; you turned out to be.

You’re a burden.

 

He never tells you this. He never lets you in on his sorrow. But, oh, how you wish he would. You’re the source, you should help him. And you’d know how. His worries would go away if you just went away. He’s too nice to tell you this. He’s too nice; and you’re abusing him.

Each morning, Dean smiles at you and wishes you a good morning and you feel like you’re floating. It’s always like a dream come true, each day anew. But then, you notice. Breakfast is getting smaller, coffee is getting thinner. It’s only ever by a margin, but you counted numbers in your boring job, so it’s your job to notice small changes. You don’t say a word. You can’t get told no if you never ask.

And you try. Oh, how you try. But each interview you had, it was a complete disaster. You’re nobody, you’re good at nothing and you are the blankest person alive. Your skill levels are fine, you know this, but your person just isn’t convincing enough. Why hire you; if there’s someone out there with your experience, and interesting to boot?

But to him, you pretend it is going fine. When he goes to work, you cry. You can’t tell him. He’ll see what a failure you are; and he’ll tell you to leave. He’d tell you that you’re a leech, and he wouldn’t be wrong. You’ve absorbed too much of his hospitality already, you should leave. But then the next morning comes, and it’s a new dream, and you can’t let go.

 

He’s all you have.

 

You try for a part-time job, just anything, to get you out, to actually contribute some money. But no bar wants you, because you’re awkward and socially inept, and you’re creeping people out. You look in the mirror, trying to see who you are. But there’s nothing there, and you resist the urge to smash it only because it’s Dean’s mirror, and not yours.

You don’t go to his friend’s outings anymore. He always asks, and you always decline. He says they’re missing you, and you know he’s lying. Maybe Garth would miss you, but you know that isn’t likely to be true. He’s got you here already; he should be able to be rid of you for a while.

He’ll likely crash at Lisa’s place, he says and there’s an empty ache inside of you. They’re still together; you know that, your ill-placed, useless confession didn’t change anything. Maybe it made him pity you a bit more, and you’ll take anything that you can get. You hum in response and then he’s gone, without another word. For five minutes you wait, and then you start to cry.

 

All you ever wanted was to be with him, and yet here you are, still as pathetic and useless as ever. You turn everything off, so maybe you can save him some money and you curl up on the sofa, and you hate yourself.

You wish they wouldn’t have come back in time.

From the back in your mind, Dream-Dean agrees.

 

Next morning, you wake up alone, and cold, and empty. It’s the most normal you’ve felt in months. Your back is aching from lying on the sofa all night; you’re not twenty anymore after all. You wonder if Dean enjoyed his night out. You hope you never ruined anything with his girlfriend. You’re living here, after all. But she’s nice. You’re sure he understands. You hope it, anyway. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you would ever be the reason they’d be breaking up.

You look to the window, and you see a wonderful day.

 

“I’m kinda running tight, Sammy”, you can hear him through the door. “I _know_ it’s her birthday, but I just can’t, okay? Can’t you buy something, and I pitch in, or whatever?” There is a short pause, and you want to turn away. “So, what do you want me to do? I’m just supposed to tell him to go away?! C’mon, that’s just heartless, don’t cha think?” You turn away. You had hoped, but your hope had been in vain. You quietly venture back into the tiny guest room.

You sit on the bed, and you hug your knees tightly. If only you could find a job. If you could start earning some money, you could pay him back; you could move out without him feeling bad. If only you were at least a little bit interesting. You try to remember if you ever did anything exceptional. But you come up empty. You’ve always been completely average. Back when you were a child, your grades were always right down the middle; never too bad, but never too good either. You couldn’t play an instrument, your drawings were always just alright and you had no talent to spend in writing either. You weren’t athletic, and you weren’t lazy. You were never picked first, but you were never picked last either. And amongst your siblings, you would always just drown. That was okay, you always thought. Without people like you, nobody would be exceptional. But now, it feels different. You’re a waste of space, aren’t you? You’re neither smart nor stupid, neither cruel nor kind. There’s nothing to love about you, and nothing to hate. There’s nothing to miss about you.

If you were gone, would anything change?

You look to the window and see a bright night-sky out there. The stars shine brilliantly. People would notice if a star was missing. You wish you could be a star; that someone would look for you when you went missing.

You wish upon a living star, and know nothing will come out of it.

 

When you step into the kitchen the following day, Dean greets you like any other time. But to you, it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. Dean looks rough, and you hope he got enough sleep. You hope he didn’t fight with Sam because of you. You don’t know what to do. You know that you could stay with Garth, but how would that be different? It would still be leeching, nonetheless. And Garth wouldn’t be Dean.

You love Dean.

And Dean deserves better.

 

This evening, Dean spends time with Sam. You hope they won’t be fighting. You decide to go out as well. Maybe some storefronts would have signs for hired help, or maybe some idea would cross your mind.

But the only signs you see are in places you’ve already tried. Places you weren’t good enough for the first time, so why bother trying again? You wonder how you ever landed a job in the first place. Maybe you’ve still been young and hopeful back then. You were neither now. You go into the park and settle down on a park bench. It’s dark, so there won’t be more people than some very dedicated joggers. You don’t know what to do. Why didn’t you ever have a dream of becoming a singer when you were young? Or maybe becoming a writer; or a painter? Alas, you never had dreams like that; and frankly, you didn’t even posses the speck of talent in any of these professions.

Just why couldn’t you have kept your boring job?

 

“Hey, how much?” a voice asks a while later and you lift your head. There’s a woman in front of you, she smells slightly drunk, but not overly so. You stare at her with big eyes and she groans. “I wanna fucking ride you, pal, so, how much?” Then you understand. She thinks you’re a whore, and maybe that’s something you could be. But you don’t know how much people take for that. You swallow and push any thought of Dean aside. You always wanted it to be him, but such were feeble dreams. “A – a thousand dollars”, you croak and immediately think that that must be too much, but she just nods. “Yeah, cool. Let me just go to an ATM. You got a car somewhere? Not keen on the bushes, yeah? Leaves keep getting everywhere.” You shake your head, looking at her like a deer caught in some headlight. She doesn’t seem to notice, or she just doesn’t care. “Well, fine, bushes it is then. I’m not paying for the god-forsaken motel as well. C’mon, pretty face.” You follow her and your heart is pounding in your ears. She’s going to tell you it’s a prank or that you’re not worth that much money.

She never tells you that, and it takes all your strength not to burst down in tears.

You get thousand dollars and you don’t know if your tears are from happiness or something way, way more troubling.

 

“Dean, I... I have a job”, you tell Dean the next day, but your voice sounds hollow to your ears. Dean doesn’t seem to notice, because he beams at you and you want to die. “Cass, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you; I know how hard it’s been.” He gets up and hugs you and you gingerly hug him back. It’s not a job and you don’t deserve this hug, but oh, how you crave it. “So, where you’re working at?” Luckily, you thought about that answer already. It couldn’t be a bar or a club, because Dean would want to visit. “It’s at the museum”, you tell him. “I’m the night-guard.” Dean beams and claps you on the shoulder. Oh, how undeserving that is. “That’s great, Cass! Um... not to be forward, but do you think you could... help me pay the bills?”

You smile and say yes. You knew he was struggling. You knew it was your fault.

You know you should stop.

You should stop loving Dean.

Dean deserves better than you.

After all, you’re filthy now.

 

You think about the sex with that woman. You remember in The Camp, they always said that this is the way God intended it to be. That it would be fulfilling, but you just feel empty and hollow, like something important was taken away from you. You always wanted it to be special in some way, with someone you care about, not behind some bushes in the park. You wonder if she enjoyed it. She had been a bit tipsy after all. You wonder if that meant you took advantage of her. You wonder if you were any good. After she was done, she just left without a second glance. You think of that hollow ache for a long, long time.

 

You go out every night now. Dean looks so proud when you get ready. You want to tell him, you want him to save you, but you can’t. You’ve wronged him enough already. Maybe you can save enough to move out. Maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe you could come to their outings again, feel like you barely belong. Maybe you could give Dean and his girlfriend some space back.

You find someone every night, and you think that’s a good cut. Maybe you’re good at this. What does it matter if it chips away at your very self? It’s not like anyone would notice. Every time you look at the mirror, it’s a hollow mask that stares back at you. It doesn’t feel like you anymore.

You watch porn now, so that you could copy some stuff. However, you don’t like it. It feels degrading watching this, and you stop. You cry in your bed every night and you’re proud of yourself that they’re silent tears. You’ve learned how to prevent sobbing a long time ago.

 

You were still small and young and you just realised how insignificant you were. You cried and sobbed and you wanted your mom to say you were special. But your siblings shone so brightly and brilliantly, she just told you to shut up. Wanting to make her proud, you did. Now you think, she never noticed at all.

Everyone else was a wonderful star in the sky, able to fulfil wishes and you; you were just a pebble on the ground. You weren’t even reaching for the sky anymore.

 

There is a bruise on your wrist. The last client had gotten rough – you usually don’t care, but the wrist was tricky. You don’t want Dean to see. You look into the mirror and you blink slowly. You want to stop. You wanted to stop before it even began. The desire to tell Dean was always there, at the tip of your tongue. “Help me”, you whisper to the one in the mirror, but nothing happens. You know you’re breaking apart, slowly, piece by piece. And you know, there’s nothing to catch you and nobody to patch you up.

“I have sex with women, and I don’t like it”, you whisper even quieter. Oh, how you wish someone would hear you. But who would care for a pebble? There were so many stars around.

You found a beautiful pebble; once. You show it to your mother, but she chugged it away amongst other pebbles. You never found it again. You had thought it odd; such a beautiful pebble must stand out? But pebbles don’t stand out. They’re meant to be forgotten.

 

The first woman comes back. She says her name is Vanessa and you think it’s a fake. You hear that’s the norm in this business. “I hear you’ve gotten around”, she says, grinding down. “I thought you’ve been a bloody amateur. Apparently I was right.” She groans. “I’m sorry”, you say in response. She scratches your chest. It’s a car this time, and you have to admit, it is a lot better than the bushes. “Ah, I don’t care, boy-toy. I got to have you first, that’s always nice.” Oh, how right she was. Dean is with his girlfriend tonight, and they’re probably doing something similar... you wonder what it’s like, doing this out of love? Vanessa smirks at him, as if she’s heard, and clenches down. “Quit the thinking, boy-toy. It makes your pretty face scrunch up. After all, I’m the best pussy you’re gonna get in a long time.” She might be right. It’s not like you know what the categories are in that department.

 

You can’t look at Dean anymore. In the beginning, you forced yourself to, but now you lack the strength. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You love him, still, even though you tried to stop. He doesn’t deserve your gaze. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. You’re sure that your pure existence is tainting it somehow. You wish you could disappear.

You take walks outside a lot. You’ve burdened Dean so much already; you need to give him some space. You watch the ground as you walk and you see the pebbles you step on. They all look the same and even without them, there’d still be a path. So why are they here? They’re not pretty, or functional. Maybe they were leftovers? You look up and nobody else is paying the pebbles any sort of mind.

How fitting, you think. Nobody looks at you, either.

The sun is shining, and there are minimal clouds in the sky. The children scream in the distance out of pure joy. The wind picks up and it’s such a nice breeze.

 

Somebody hit you in the face and you don’t quite know how to cover it up. Dean, obviously, doesn’t have any make-up. You could ask Charlie, or Dean’s girlfriend, but that would result in questions that would ultimately go back to Dean. You wonder if a store clerk would have to ask questions. The answer is probably yes – at their core, most people are inherently good. So, you have to think of a cover-story. You could’ve fallen onto something. Oh yes – maybe you rolled out of bed and accidentally hit yourself on the nightstand. Or you fell asleep at work and bumped your head onto whatever. Hmm. Maybe the work thing was better. It wouldn’t make Dean feel so bad. So the only thing you had to do was to play it down. You could do that. If you could fake arousal, you could play something down.

 

Dean doesn’t question you any further, and you hope that means he believes you. He doesn’t seem troubled. That’s good, you think. He just says to be more careful next time. Oh, how you wish you could.

Vanessa doesn’t like the black eye, and she actually gets quite angry. You don’t really understand why. She is gruff and a lot rougher than usual. “Vanessa”, you say quietly. “Are you okay?” She growls and squeezes his neck. “Yeah, just peachy”, she replies and you hope she stops. She scratches across your chest. “I want to hurt you”, she says and you comply. She takes a knife and she looks relieved. Maybe this makes her happy. You wouldn’t know, but once she starts cutting, it’s over a lot quicker.

Later, your cuts ache. But she paid more this time, and that’s a nice compensation. If Dean looks your way, you don’t notice. You just go to sleep. You don’t remember if you cry. Nowadays, it just happens.

 

Two days later, you have a fever. You know it’s the cuts. You never bothered to clean them, and they looked strange yesterday. Dean worries and you want to tell him you’re fine, but you can’t. You’re not fine, and it’s just too nice to have him here. You’re still selfish, and you still want him for yourself.

He’s so nice to you. He makes you his mother’s soup, and brings you wet towels. He rain checks his girlfriend for you, doesn’t go to see his friends. You wish you deserved that. You should tell him. You should, but if you do, he’ll go away and he won’t come back. You can’t lose Dean, you just can’t. He’s all you have.

The fever gets worse, and Dean takes you to the hospital. You protest, because then he’s going to know. But you can barely speak up. He wouldn’t listen to you anyway. You think that maybe you cry into his shoulder, but you don’t really remember. He never comments on it, and you never ask.

You spend three days in the hospital. You don’t listen to what the doctors are telling you, because you know they tell all of this to Dean as well. You dread his reaction. Every time he’s in the room, you pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re awake, Castiel”, he says one time and the use of your full name just breaks your heart. Why couldn’t your mother just chug you away, so nobody would ever find you again?

 

Dean doesn’t speak to you on the way home. On television, there’s always a big welcome party for someone who has been in the hospital. There’s no party for you. You wonder, briefly, if Dean remembers your birthday – if he even knows it at all.

“Castiel”, he says after the door closes. “Tell me.”

But you can’t, so you force yourself to look at him. He looks firm. Maybe he even looks worried, but you put that thought aside. Why would he worry for you? You’ve been nothing but a burden, yet again. “I wanted to be good”, you say toneless.

 

_I just wanted the whispers to stop._

_I just wanted to stop being a burden to you._

_I just wanted to be good._

 

He takes your phone and looks at all the messages sent between you and your clients. Some small part of you still hoped he would never know, but it was useless, now. “You should’ve told me” he says and you’re not sure what you hear in his voice. “I wanted to be good”, you say again.

 

“You’ve always been good”, he says and hugs you. It feels like you don’t deserve it.

“I love you”, you say and he tightens his hug.

 

You hug him back. Maybe that’s all you can do.

It’s not enough.

But maybe, in time, it could be.

**Author's Note:**

> well, I wrote that just shy under three hours on a roll. My little finger is spasming, so yay. Anyway, if you got to here, I hope you liked it! No? Tell me why! I'd love to get some feedback. (I kept slipping out of second person - such a pain) Anyway, have a nice day (:


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